


pulling in the same direction

by StarAmongStones



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:33:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarAmongStones/pseuds/StarAmongStones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Eric Bittle of the Providence Gazette is, as it turns out, not actually a sports reporter.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	pulling in the same direction

**Author's Note:**

> god bless awkward hockey boys who say a whole lot of nothing when speaking to the media

It feels like Jack has been at it for hours, even though it’s probably only been twenty minutes at the most. He always feels like he’s drowning in questions after a loss.

_Do you think the coach has lost the room?_

_How do you feel about the people who are saying this team is too young and inexperienced to be a real Stanley Cup contender?_

_Why weren’t you good enough?_

Even if no one outright asks the last question, it feels like everyone is thinking it. Jack takes a deep breath and reminds himself that the reporters are just trying to get under his skin. They want a juicy soundbite that will sell papers or up their page views.

“We’re just trying to play our game out there,” Jack says for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “We’re playing the best hockey we can play. I’m proud of how we played tonight, even if we didn’t get the results we were hoping for.”

“Okay,” Georgia pipes up from behind the reporters. “Last question for the night.” And then he sees her hand reach up above everyone’s heads and point towards someone near the back of the scrum.

The boy is short enough that he’s mostly hidden behind the other more pushy reporters, but his blond hair is striking to the point that Jack’s genuinely surprised he hadn’t noticed the kid before.

He does a lazy half-nod, half-point towards the kid and says, “Uh, yeah. You.”

“Oh.” The kid looks flustered, like he hadn’t actually been expecting to be called on. Jack can feel his frustration mounting. If he has to sit and answer asinine questions after every game - and even some practices - the least these vultures can do is show up prepared.

The kid takes a deep breath and says, “Hi, Mr. Zimmermann. Eric Bittle, Providence Gazette.”

The other reporters chuckle at the kid’s - Bittle’s - formality. Jack himself can feel his own irritation give way to something else. Something softer, and probably different than amusement the reporters are getting out of the situation. It’s just- it’s been so long since he’s come across someone in the media who doesn’t _demand_ Jack’s time, who doesn’t think Jack owes them anything.

Still, he can’t help but chirp, “Hi, Mr. Bittle.” It sets off a slightly louder round of laughter, and Bittle’s cheeks pink up. “What’s your question?”

Even though he’s clearly embarrassed, Bittle holds eye contact and says, “What is your favorite dessert?”

Questions like that aren’t weird - well, they _are_ , but everyone on the team has answered a fluff question like that before; something about letting the fans feel like they know the players or something - but it _is_ weird that Bittle would rather ask a fluff question than any of the hard-hitting ones Jack was getting just minutes before.

“Um,” Jack says, feeling wrong-footed but strangely okay with it, “I don’t really eat dessert.”

“Oh, come on,” Bittle says, sounding exasperated. His eyes immediately go wide, like he hadn’t meant to say that. “Sorry! Sorry, I-”

“Pie?” Jack cuts him off. Even to his ears, he sounds unsure. It’s just, he really doesn’t eat dessert. If he’s going to break his diet, he’s much more likely to reach for carbs than anything sweet.

Bittle catches on to the hesitation immediately and jokes, “You sure about that?”

Despite everything, Jack can feel himself smile slightly in amusement. “My mom makes really good apple pie for Canadian Thanksgiving every year. So that’s my answer.”

“Thank you,” Bittle says with a nod and a smile.

Jack really hopes Bittle picks another career. The kid is way too sweet to be a beat reporter.

 

* * *

 

Eric Bittle of the Providence Gazette is, as it turns out, not actually a sports reporter.

The next day, Jack gets to morning skate to find a pie sitting in his stall.

“Very funny,” Jack deadpans. It’s not, actually, but pranks rarely are. This one seems particularly, strangely unfunny though. At the very least, Jack would have expected one of his teammates to shove the pie in his face or something.

“Not a joke, bro,” Shitty says from his stall right next to Jack’s.

There’s a note propped up on the side of the pie that says, _Thanks for answering my question last night. - Eric Bittle_. Underneath the pie is a newspaper clipping of a recipe for something called Canadian Apple Pie, written by none other than Bittle himself.

A quick google search - conducted by Ransom because, though they’re all at least a little bit curious, he’s the first to crack - reveals that Bittle is actually the head food columnist, but the paper is so small that he’s covering sports while the normal sports reporter is sick.

When they discover there’s also an online component for the Gazette’s food column where Bittle films himself cooking that week’s recipe step by step, Ransom says, “We should get this kid to do something for Falc TV.”

 

* * *

 

 _Cooking with Holster and Ransom_ becomes an overnight sensation.

The boys are insufferable about it.

 

* * *

 

Just like that, Bittle is sort of part of their weird little hockey family. He shows up at least once a week during the season to get ideas for the Falcs Food column, in which he asks various players what they like to eat and then prints a creative recipe based on the suggestion. (Once, one of their fourth line d-men said, “Uh, I like chicken.” Bittle’s recipe that week listed no less than ten spices.) He also comes in once a month to film a short cooking segment with the team. They don’t put it in the Falcs TV episodes anymore, but everyone likes Bittle enough to do it for the paper’s online segment when he asks. It’s usually Ransom and Holster since they’re by far the most popular segment participants, but occasionally Bittle will mix it up with a rookie.

Then, after almost a year of filming _Cooking with the Falconers_ , Georgia asks Jack to do one.

“I know this isn’t usually your thing,” Georgia says before Jack can say anything.

He knows she knows. They’re good about not making him do P.R. stuff often. He _also_ knows that media is an unfortunate aspect of getting to continue to play hockey.

“This could be really good, though,” Georgia continues. “Half our questions on Twitter nowadays are about food or Eric Bittle. That boy is good publicity. It’d be great to have our captain in on it, too.”

“Just tell me when and where,” Jack says.

Georgia’s relieved smile is worth it.

That is, until Bittle shows up at his apartment a few days later and suddenly everything is _real_ and there’s a reason he never does Falcs TV stuff.

“Hi, there,” Bittle says brightly when Jack answers. Jack’s face must show exactly how he feels about this whole thing - which does not bode well for the day at all - because Bittle says, “Oh, dear.”

Weirdly enough, that sort of comforts Jack. He lets out a small, surprised laugh.

Bittle’s face lights up for a second before determination sets in and he heads straight for the kitchen. Jack really doesn’t have much of a choice but to follow.

“Wow,” Bittle breathes, looking around like he doesn’t know what to focus on first. “This is- wow.”

“My mother really likes to cook,” Jack says shyly. He knows it’s a great kitchen. It’s honestly too nice for his needs, since he doesn’t really cook anything too fancy or difficult, but his mother had fallen in love with it when she came apartment hunting with him after he’d first signed with the Falconers. Giving her something she could enjoy every time she visited was the least he could do.

Bittle smile is bright and warm when he turns back to Jack. “Your mother has good taste.” He lets his fingers trail along the granite counter top on the island in the middle of the kitchen before he says, “The first cooking video I ever made was a disaster.”

Jack has no idea what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because Bittle looks up at him and says, “I tried to bake a simple pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving. But then I started talking about the importance of not letting your butter melt completely when making the crust, which turned into another tangent, and I ended up rambling for so long that I burned the pie.” He laughs. “You could actually see the smoke coming out of the oven behind me like I was in some sort of sitcom.”

Bittle’s laughter is infectious, and Jack huffs out a laugh of his own.

“So my point,” Bittle says, looking him straight in the eyes, “is that things will probably go wrong. Doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world.”

“Telling me I’m likely to fail doesn’t make me feel better,” Jack jokes.

“How about this: I have years of experience with this sort of thing. I won’t let you fail.”

 _That_ Jack believes.

 

* * *

 

Despite his nerves, Jack has sort of a nice time. He’s pretty sure he’s awkward as hell - he’s seen himself on film and is nothing if not self-aware when it comes to his own faults - but Bittle somehow manages to make it easy. Well, easier than normal.

Jack has no intention of ever watching the video, but the decision is taken out of his hands the day after the video goes up online.

“Did you watch it?” Shitty asks, stripping off his shirt as Jack laces up his skates.

Jack ties his right lace and starts in on his left. “Watch what?”

Shitty makes him stop what he’s doing. And then stop what he’s doing again once Jack realizes exactly what Shitty is talking about and tries to get out of it by refocusing on doing up his skates.

“No,” Shitty says, shoving his phone under Jack’s nose. “You will watch this, you suave, beautiful motherfucker.”

Jack doesn’t quite know why Shitty is forcing him to sit through his video. During their rookie season, one of the vets compiled a Youtube playlist of some of his worst interviews and the two commercials he’d already done at the time and played them in the locker room as a joke before one practice. Shitty had pulled Jack out of the room under the pretext of needing extra practice, and then stayed extra late so they could leave after all the other guys went home. Shitty’s a quality guy who wouldn’t rub Jack’s face in just how _bad_ he is on camera.

It’s not until Jack actually focuses on the video that he sort of realizes why Shitty would want him to watch the segment. He clearly starts off very uncomfortable, hovering just behind Bittle as he explains what they’ll be making. And then Bittle says, “And here to do exactly as I say, no more, no less, is Jack Zimmermann.”

Jack watches himself visibly relax and smile in a way he’s never seen himself do on camera. It’s unguarded and _real_. It’s...unexpected.

He looks up to find Shitty staring at him.

“Well, shit, dude,” Shitty says, stunned. “I was just going to congratulate you on finally letting your guard down enough to show the world you have a personality, but _shit_.”

“What?” Jack asks even though he’s pretty sure he knows what Shitty is talking about. He can feel himself smiling, helpless against it. Just like his eyes are helplessly drawn back to the video, where Bittle is saying, “No, that’s _salt_.” Then - fondly, Jack’s pretty sure - Bittle says into the camera, “This boy.”

 

* * *

 

A few weeks later, all Jack’s done is send one text that said, _Good video, Bittle_ . Bittle, for his part, sent back, _thanks you weren’t so bad yourself_ , and then a little square after it that Holster told him means Jack needs to join this century. Jack’s too busy worrying about the final push for the play-offs to actually do anything more than that.

It doesn’t matter much in the end. One night, a few games away from the end of the season, Bittle shows up towards the back of the media scrum in front of Jack’s stall. It’s evidently Jack’s turn again to provide recipe inspiration, and he wonders what the topic of this round is. He kind of hopes it’s appetizers because he’s been practicing a few of those in his downtime recently.

And then the questions start and Jack’s attention goes right back into the game. At least this time it was a win.

As everyone is winding down, the questions coming in slower and more general in nature, Shitty slides onto the bench next to Jack and says, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I will be Jack’s translator for the evening.”

Everyone looks equal parts amused and baffled.

“What are you doing?” Jack sighs, already resigned to going along with whatever Shitty is doing right now.

“And by that,” Shitty says, addressing the reporters, “he means, ‘Bitty, what are you doing tomorrow night?’”

Jack closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s not how he would have chosen to go about this whole thing. Then again, he probably would have chosen to never go about this whole thing.

“Oh, I, um,” Bittle stutters out. When Jack opens his eyes again, Bittle is looking right back. His eyes are wide and his cheeks are beginning to flush and Jack thinks, _Well, this is uncomfortable_.

After a beat, Bittle says, “I don’t believe I have anything going on.”

“Good, good,” Shitty says, nodding. “Follow-up question: would you like to get dinner with me. Jack-me, not me-me. I am very happily married to my wife.”

“We get it,” someone yells from across the locker room. “You’re straight!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shitty yells back. “No one is completely straight.”

Bittle gives him a curious look, as if to ask, _Really?_

Well, Shitty’s already put it all out there. Might as well go for broke.

Jack nods, almost imperceptibly.

Bittle’s whole face lights up with his grin. Eventually, he says, “I would love to get dinner with you. With Jack-Jack, not Shitty-Jack.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> So obviously the ending is a little based on that old video of Max "translating" for Flower (links never work for me when I try them on ao3 and I'm too lazy to figure out why so here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okqNB4qSoBk). Anyway, I thought Shitty would totally do that for Hockey Robot Jack.
> 
> And the title comes from the Gretzky quote:  
> "Hockey is a unique sport in the sense that you need each and every guy helping each other and pulling in the same direction to be successful."  
> Aka Jack has the best wingmen on and off the ice.


End file.
